


Late Bloomer

by starquills



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, F/M, Found Family, Impostor Syndrome, Quidditch, Ravenclaw, Triwizard Tournament, Weasley twins, goblet of fire - Freeform, jackie is a late bloomer, not-quite-enemies to friends to lovers, they are Oblivious Idiots but they are MY Oblivious Idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27900016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starquills/pseuds/starquills
Summary: Jackie Bishop fought through dirt, broke through the surface, and now here she is — the prettiest bloom in the garden.Yes, she may have taken longer than most to thrive and flourish, to become what she was always meant to be, but that's quite alright. Jackie is here now, standing tall and swaying in the wind where she belongs for the world to see.There's no chance of her being uprooted now.
Relationships: George Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. 01 — but it's different now

**_HAS JACOB BISHOP'S DAUGHTER RETURNED HOME FOR GOOD?_** Reads the front page of the newspaper that Jackie had picked up on her way out of the house. It must be a slow news day, she thinks, admiring the picture of herself that was taken across the street from her house. It's from yesterday, late in the evening, after she returned home from dinner with her grandparents.

She's grinning, waving at the press who are waiting for them, eyes wide in the face of the flashes that wouldn't stop clicking. Her father is far in front, hand covering his face, pushing his way through the front door of their home, ushering little Gus inside ahead of him.

It's strange that the picture isn't moving to Jackie, far too accustomed to the wizarding world by now after spending countless months in the confines of Hogwarts with trips to the Quidditch pitch for practice and games and the lonely walk to Hogsmeade the only releases. She half expects to blink and see her mother's arm reach out to grab hers and pull her away from being the centre of attention, but it — of course — doesn't happen.

The picture remains still, but that's okay. The memory of it all is still fresh in Jackie's mind, she remembers everything. Remembers the front door crashing closed, and Gus being sent upstairs, and the raised voices that followed. Remembers the shouts from outside continuing for hours well after it had gone dark and the curtains were drawn, and the arguments had reluctantly ended, men with microphones and cameras begging for just a word or two from darling, supposedly disturbed, Jackie.

She sighs and takes one final glance at herself. To be fair, it's a good picture of her, she thinks — worthy of the front page, for sure, even if the cuffs of her pale blue cashmere jumper were smudged with a little dirt, as her mother had pointed out, horrified. She might rip it out and paste it into a scrapbook when she gets home – something to commemorate the rare moment at home, in view of the British public, for the years to come. A picture with her _and_ Gus in the same frame: now isn't that _something._

The paper gets folded in half, and placed on the seat beside her. She doesn't need to read the article; it is littered with the lies that her parents have told through grins and gritted teeth for the last two years. PTSD, and rural retreats, and specialist help, rather than magic, and wonder, and Hogwarts.

They act as though the car crash that unveiled Jackie Bishop to be a witch was the worst thing that ever happened to her. Making it out to be a formidable experience, that left her with a few broken bones and years' worth of content to work through in therapy.

It may have been a life changing event; Jackie will not dispute that particular fact, but she means it in the _very_ _best_ way possible. She may well be a late-bloomer, but magic is now _everything_ to her, well worth a few months of living with crutches and plaster-cast.

She turns her attention to the slow-moving traffic out of the window, craning her neck slightly to get a better look at a sign that sits on the other side of the road, across five lanes of other cars.

Her mind is taken back to the two previous times that she's been to Diagon Alley, firstly with Rubeus Hagrid who was absolutely _beyond_ kind to her and made it into such a special experience that she'll never forget it, and secondly with her parents which was _also_ similarly memorable, but for different reasons altogether.

It had been a bit of an overwhelming experience for them all, last year. After having chosen to leave her younger brother, Gus, at home, her parents had been at their absolute worst; her father had been easily irritable the entire afternoon they'd spent there, and her mother's interest had peaked when looking at impractical dress robes and nothing else. She suspected that they'd come to be more nosey than helpful, and she'd been entirely correct in her assumption. The moment she'd mentioned buying an owl to take with her to Hogwarts, all conversation had faltered, and the trip became a rush to buy everything _necessary_ on her list, and leave.

With that experience fresh in her mind, it had come as no surprise whatsoever when Jackie had declared that she intended to go to Diagon Alley alone prior to her third – or technically, _sixth –_ year at Hogwarts. Her parents had put up a slight argument against it, but it wasn't much of a fight, and Jackie had taken any further questioning out of the equation when she'd hopped in a taxi earlier in the morning without saying goodbye, pockets weighed down by heavy coins and a feeling of excitement that had been lacking since she'd come home for the summer. (God only knew why wizards refused to use notes or cards, she had wondered as she'd collected all of her money that she'd managed to exchange before the end of the previous school year – but that was a discussion for another time).

"The first exit here, please," Jackie speaks from the back, directing the taxi driver who huffs under his breath and begins to manoeuvre into the left-hand lane for the upcoming roundabout, wedging himself in between the other traffic.

A horn sounds from behind them, and Jackie hides a smile. Being difficult is fun at times, even if she wasn't even _intentionally_ being so for once.

They crawl up to the exit, indicator on whilst the meter continues to tick steadily upwards, and Jackie relaxes backwards, feeling the belt pull on her as she does so until her back is flush against the seat.

They drive a short while longer, and Jackie sits in silence as they go. She knows that the taxi driver recognises her; she had watched him glance between the paper in her hands and herself in the rear-view mirror when she first got into the cab, but he hasn't asked anything and she doubts he will now. That doesn't mean he won't speak about her _after_ she pays and leaves though, so she'd best make an early exit a few streets away from her final destination and continue on foot to avoid any _more_ rumours from surfacing about herself, even if she does like watching the vein in her father's temple _jump_ when they do.

"Anywhere here will do," She tells the driver as she begins to feel cobblestones under the wheels of the car for the first time, knowing that that means she's close enough.

Jackie fishes in her pockets for a few long moments, making sure to pull out a muggle note or two so as to avoid the wizard coins, and then passes the cash over with a muttered word to keep the change. The driver thanks her in typical fashion – which means he says nothing at all in response – and she slips out of the backdoor onto the pavement.

She rights herself, straightening out her carefully pleated tartan skirt, and straightening the collar on the shirt she's wearing underneath a matching blazer; it may well be the middle of August, but it's actually quite cold outside, and it's been raining on and off for the past week. She's fairly wrapped up as a result, having opted for thick black tights over the knee-high socks she usually prefers to wear, also.

Finally, she pulls at the bow that's tied at the back of her head to make sure it still looks neat enough, before beginning to walk in the general direction of The Leaky Cauldron.

She takes a wrong turn every now and again as she goes, just to ensure that any prying eyes might get lost – the memory of the previous evening's encounter with the press still fresh in her mind – but in spite of the small detours, she's reached Charing Cross Road before she knows it.

She takes a deep breath as she stands in front of the door to The Leaky Cauldron, and pushes through. It's slightly more nerve-wracking than she anticipated, to be doing this alone, now that she's actually _here,_ but it's also really rather liberating to be doing this by herself – a new step she's taking as a young witch that she couldn't have even imagined doing just a few years ago. A taste of the independence that will allow her to live the life that is entirely her own – thatshe was _born_ to live – that she longs for something fierce.

The sounds from within The Leaky Cauldron bring with them a sense of nostalgia that isn't entirely Jackie's just yet. It's familiar and calming, in an odd sort of way, as this is only the third time she has set foot inside of these premises, though she wishes it had been more. It may well be small and dingy, but it's _welcoming_ in an almighty way that Jackie just can't help but _adore._ Gentle chatter surrounds her as she takes slightly slow steps through the pub, a smile making its way onto her face that will make her cheeks ache if it grows much larger.

Jackie lets herself listen to small titbits of gossip as she passes by tables, but much of what she hears means nothing to her, and soon enough she's reached the courtyard. She wrinkles her nose at the smell that comes from the dustbin to the right of her as she stands in place, concentrating on the wall in front of her. She carefully counts the bricks – three up from the bin and two across – before tapping it with her wand three times, and then concealing it again by tucking it into the waistband at the side of her skirt where the zip also sits.

A feeling of utter elation rushes through her at the small act of magic, having waited so long to do _anything_ resembling a spell ever since she returned home for the summer. She knows that being barely sixteen, she shouldn't _technically_ have performed even such an insignificant spell, but she's in a place surrounded by wizards, meaning that the magic can't be tracked back to her specifically. _Besides,_ she reasons, she really doesn't have another option; she's here alone after all. (Plus, she did it the year before, _perhaps_ to show off just a little in front of her parents in the hopes of them being impressed, and faced no consequences as a result so she's really not the slightest bit concerned.)

The wall in front of her warps and changes, bricks slipping out of place until a haphazard archway is formed. Jackie takes a deep breath, and crosses her arms over her chest before stepping out onto the cobbled street. She holds herself tightly as she walks a few steps, half to combat the cold of being outside, and half because it makes her feel, well – a little more secure, she supposes.

Standing here alone, the street suddenly looks _huge_ in a particularly overwhelming sort of way. The buildings loom over her on either side, and it's _loud_ too, the street crowded with families and friends huddled together in groups.

Few other people seem to be by themselves, and for a series of long moments it all feels a bit _much_ for Jackie.

The young witch pauses, and closes her eyes for just a second. She lets the noises wash over her, trying to process it all, and steadies her breathing. She repeats the list of what she needs to buy in her mind, long since memorised ever since an owl brought the letter which contained them and her exam results – which had far exceeded her expectations – to her window in late July.

Jackie, in the throes of it all, feels jealous, just for a moment, of the peers that have a much better knowledge of this place than she does, having played in the shadows of the shops when they were barely able to toddle, but she quickly shakes the feeling off; her father has shown her the ugliness that jealousy can cause, and she'd rather not become like him. Instead, she takes the time to consider which shop she needs to go to first, taking a moment to look around and orientate herself using the knowledge she has from her prior trips to the street.

As she breaks the visit down into more easily digestible chunks, she feels much better. To start with, she will do what makes the most sense, and go to procure the lightest and easiest item on her list: Quills and ink.

_One step at a time, Jackie,_ she thinks, as her mind already tries to rush forwards to what she will go to find after that. She will simply see where her feet take her afterwards – it's all fine.

*****

It doesn't take as long as Jackie expects to settle back into everything. After a short while of feeling a little out of sorts, as though perhaps she is an impostor who doesn't have the right to be in such a magical place, she allows herself to feel more at home in the midst of it all.

Diagon Alley may be loud, but for good reason – the bustle of crowds passing by her is _nice_ , and people do not pay her so much as a second glance. It's far more welcoming than trying to exist in the muggle-dominated world that is far too interested in her most of the time.

There are bags hanging from both of her arms, and she feels content, stomach happily full-enough after having enjoyed an Ice Cream at one of the sweet tables outside of Florean Fortescue's Parlour. She feels content in a way that she often seeks out when with her family, but has no trouble finding at Hogwarts, which she reckons is more of a home to her than her parents' lovely house in Chelsea will ever be now.

Jackie's new robes, ingredients, and the majority of her books for the year have been collected now, some of which are thick volumes with a hefty price attached to them. Her pockets are feeling considerably lighter than they did when she arrived, but there's still enough that she could treat herself to something she's been desperately trying to keep her eyes away from, just in case things turned out to be more expensive than originally anticipated. (It's not that she _doesn't_ have a Gringotts' account with a healthy balance, but that she doesn't want to dip into it for as long as she can. Pocket change will do for now – she's saving that for something _big,_ but she doesn't want to jinx it by admitting what that is.)

Jackie lets her feet carry her over to _Quality Quidditch Supplies,_ and to the display that she hasn't let herself pay too much attention to thus far. She pulls the sleeve of her blazer over her hand, and rubs away the fingerprints that have collected on the glass of the storefront throughout the day, no doubt left by people who are equally as eager as her to see the latest broomstick.

The _Firebolt II_ is well worth a dirty sleeve, Jackie reckons, and watches as her own reflection grins back at her from the now-clean glass. It really is a thing of absolute beauty, sleek and smart and _god –_ Jackie wants it so bad. _Gorgeous,_ her mind thinks – and it's odd because she _really_ wasn't bothered by sport in the slightest until she discovered Quidditch, but now she's sort of _mad_ about it in a terrifyingly all-consuming way.

In fact, Quidditch is perhaps the only thing she considers to be more important than her studies – barring actual magic itself. She'd gotten on a broom in her fourth year, and that had been that. Simple. Jackie was born to play Quidditch in the same way that she was born to be a witch; inevitable, unavoidable, inescapable. Certain in a way that few other things are. She _adores_ it. In the sort of way that means maybe she _did_ cry when she couldn't convince her father to let her go to the Quidditch World Cup _even_ if she was to go with Jenny's parents, but that's not worth thinking about now. What's done is done, after all.

"Great, isn't it?" A voice speaks up suddenly from behind her, and Jackie near jumps out of her skin.

"You could just say _hello,_ you know," She sighs, not remotely shocked to find that her reflection is now rosy cheeked from shock, eyes glaring. Her voice is pitched a little higher than she'd like.

Fred smirks from where he stands over her shoulder, and Jackie shakes her head. George, on the other side, is smiling too, looking like he's biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"Where would be the fun in that?" George asks – _yes,_ she knows the difference. It's isn't a big deal; if they were hitting bludgers in your general direction every third game of the season, you'd soon learn which one you were shouting your curses at, too.

The twins nudge each other, a small tussle happening between the two of them. Seemingly, they're having some sort of conversation involving play-fighting and facial expressions alone. It isn't cute, and Jackie hopes that they know that; she'd even venture far enough to say that it's really rather _rude,_ actually.

They appear to reach a consensus on whatever they were discussing. "Do you want the good news, or the bad news, Jackie?" Fred asks, as though they are taking turns speaking. Maybe they are, although Jackie suspects there's some sort of much more complex system to it than that.

Confusion washes over her, and she turns around, subconsciously reaching to adjust the smartly-tied ribbon that's holding half of her hair back. " _What?_ " She asks, putting it rather eloquently. She hasn't a clue what they're talking about – she feels as though she's missed half of a conversation in the last thirty seconds, somehow.

"Do you want the _good_ news, or the _bad_ news," Fred repeats himself, speaking more slowly this time, and putting emphasis on certain words. It's quite insulting, really, how he says it — as though she's the odd one here who refuses to add context to a confusing offer.

"What if I say neither," She narrows her eyes, being deliberately difficult this time, unlike earlier in the taxi.

"Then you're in for a right shock when you get back to school in September," George answers slightly too fast, his eyes gleam with mischief as he speaks but perhaps there's a little sincerity to what he says, too. _Or_ maybe that's just wishful thinking on Jackie's behalf; she's not sure she likes the sound of where this conversation is going.

She crosses her arms over her chest again, bags and all, taking on a somewhat defensive position without really meaning to, as though she's protecting herself against whatever they're about to say.

Jackie lifts her chin up, "Bad news first," She decides. It seems like the best bet, even if she's feeling a little off-balance. Bad news first is sensible; anything that follows will seem all the better, she thinks, before realising that she perhaps thinks so, as that's how her mother chooses to deliver most news, these days.

"Drum roll, George!" Fred says cheerfully, and George begins to pat his palms onto his thighs in a poor attempt at one, steadily getting faster, "No Quidditch at Hogwarts this year!"

His voice doesn't sound so cheery saying it, but if these particular Weasley boys are good at anything, it's keeping up a façade; Jackie only manages to notice the slightly wrong tone because she's _so_ used to them being _so_ irritating.

Her stomach drops, nonetheless. "And the good news?" She asks.

"You don't need to spend your precious money on a broomstick–" George grins, although it's almost _kind?_ His eyes drift to the _Firebolt II_ that is proudly displayed behind her. She supposes if what they said is true, then he is right, even if she doesn't want to hear it.

"—And at least you can forgo the humiliation of having us beat you for another year," Fred cuts in and – _hey,_ why is Jackie just _believing_ them with no questions asked? As though they're not famous for pulling stupid pranks year-round.

"How would you two know that?" She asks, looking one twin dead in the eye, and then giving the other the same treatment.

"Ravenclaw are rubbish, it's a known fact. Oliver passed down stats on how shoddy –"

"Not that," Jackie sighs; resisting the urge to stomp her foot. "About there being no Quidditch."

George shrugs, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers after pointedly elbowing his brother beside him. "Dad works in the ministry, and the rumours he hears tend to be true." His hand reaches back, and he scratches the back of his neck as though he's . . . _Nervous? Embarrassed?_ Jackie isn't all too sure.

"It's been circling for a while," Fred adds, "Like, since _before_ summer, really, so we're probably right."

"Oh," She says, turning back around to glance at the broomstick on display. She isn't really sure of what else to add; they genuinely seem _sincere,_ even if they are known for being arseholes most of the time. It's not like the two of them and her _don't_ get on, after all, and this would just be straight-up cruel. She doesn't think that they're usually _cruel._ "Do you know _why_?"

They seem to have another one of those conversations again – the type that doesn't use words.

"Not sure," Fred responds, all nonchalance. "But it must be something big, I reckon."

Jackie isn't a massive fan of just getting half a story.

"And your father _told_ you this?" She pushes; Quidditch is _everything_ , and she thinks she might well go mad if she doesn't get to play it for a year. She already missed out on so much as knowing about it for the first thirteen years of her life, she doesn't fancy going any more time without.

"Not exactly," George tilts his hand from side to side, as if to say _sort of,_ which Jackie takes to mean that the pair of them were snooping. It comes as no surprise whatsoever to her. "But he and Percy do talk so _loudly_."

"It really isn't our fault if we overhear them –" Jackie isn't sure she believes that the twins just _happened_ across the information that they're discussing, but it really isn't her responsibility to police them on what is and isn't morally correct.

A group of voices sound behind them, rounding a corner a short distance away, and both boys glance over their shoulders quickly. Their names get called by at least three separate voices, telling them to hurry up already.

"Anyways, this conversation was fun," Fred changes the subject of what he was saying with ease, waving off his family behind them. "We should do it again some time."

Jackie feels as though she's lost her footing a little – unsure of the sudden different direction that she's being lead in. "That's it?" She asks, frowning. She isn't sure why they have to be so confusing all the time. "No _Hello Jackie,_ no small talk, no actual explanation? Just rushing off after having had half a conversation?"

"Yes," George grins, just as a redheaded woman behind them begins to yell in their general direction; Jackie's pretty sure that it must be Mrs. Weasley, having seen – or rather heard – her scold the twins in a similar fashion on platform 9 & 3/4 on more than one occasion. "That's it." He confirms. "We're busy men, we can't stick around all day to chat, much as you might like us to."

God, they're insufferable.

"Why did you choose to come and tell me, then?" Jackie tries to ask, ignoring most of what was just said. Their egos are ridiculous as it is, she'd rather not fuel the fire.

"Why not?"

_"Why?_ I presume you haven't spoken to every other Quidditch player at school," She pushes for an answer.

"Oh no," Fred shakes his head, making a whole show of it for one reason or another, "Only our _favourites,"_ He emphasises, winking at Jackie as he says it. She resists the urge to gag loudly, though good-naturedly, of course.

"Oh, aren't I lucky, then?" She replies, hand on heart.

"Who do you think you are with all these bloody questions, our mother?" Fred gestures over his shoulder at the woman herself, confirming Jackie's earlier suspicions. She isn't sure the response quite fits, but the conversation continues to move on; and here she was, thinking they were in something of a rush to leave and get back to their family.

" _You_ came to speak to _me,_ " She reminds them, not gracing that question with an answer.

"Did we?" He ponders aloud, "Do you remember that, George?"

"You know, I'm not sure I do, Fred, no." They've swapped names just now, Jackie notices – she especially can tell from this close, easily noticing the way that George's nose is ever-so-slightly crooked from a close encounter with a bludger the year beforehand (which may or may not have just seen the wrong side of her own bat) that never healed up quite right, despite Madam Pomfrey's help. It's yet another gimmick that they regularly try on, but she's not about to let them know that _she_ knows what they're doing. They might get the impression that she cares to pay attention to them.

Jackie huffs, her stance becoming more relaxed, and she can't help but let out a breathy laugh. "Very funny, boys," She says before pouting, just a little.

Fred casts another glance over his shoulder, watching his mother grow slightly more irritated as she waits for them. She's told them to hurry up _twice_ now, but she does sound fond about it, so Jackie assumes that she isn't too serious about it.

He leans in close, "I'll give you five galleons if you create more of a fuss than _we_ do when Dumbledore announces this whole thing when we're back at school." His grin is wide and bright, as is George's, and then – before she can respond – the pair of them are heading off again, walking back to join the rest of their family at a casual pace. She considers shouting after them, tempted to take the bet for some reason, but decides against it and just watches them go.

_Weird,_ she thinks, feeling slightly knocked for six, not entirely sure of _what the hell_ just happened. They did seem to have developed somewhat of a reputation for gambling in the second half of their fifth year, so it's not out of the question that the point of that _whole_ conversation was to make a bet.

Jackie shrugs it off.

She purposefully doesn't turn back to face the window display behind her, finding that she's not as excited about it as she once was, now that the meaning of what they actually just told her is being allowed a moment to set in.

She crouches down and roots through the bags that hang off her arms for a moment, to occupy her mind. The total that she has spent so far gets totted up as she goes, and then taken away from the carefully counted amount of money that she had deposited into her pockets that morning and – _yep,_ that's okay, she decides.

In _fact,_ it's more okay, she concludes, standing up and righting herself once more before beginning to walk. _Perhaps_ now is the perfect time to finally buy that owl she's been pondering over getting since last year, instead. Broomsticks come and go, but a pet is _forever._ (Well, not quite, but near enough.)

Or . . . on second thought, maybe a cat would be even better, Jackie thinks, as she changes her direction ever so slightly. Her father did _specifically_ say she couldn't have an owl, but he never said a word about any other pets so technically, _technically_ , he can't say that Jackie went against his word. It's not her fault that he wasn't more careful with how he phrased it; she's long since developed such a knack for finding loopholes in what he says, and he knows that all too well.

Besides, there's no one here to _stop_ her. And once her mother has reluctantly come to collect her later on – Jackie intends to call her from the closest phone box she can find, there must be one around here _somewhere –_ it's not exactly like she can make her return it.

_Perfect,_ she grins to herself, the sight of _Magical Menagerie_ coming into view _;_ people may say that money doesn't buy you happiness, but buying things to make yourself feel better _does_ work like a charm, and part of her _has_ always liked the idea of having somebody— _something_ – to keep her company.


	2. 02 — taste my disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meet the bishops!

August 31st couldn't have come around any more slowly for Jackie. Since her trip to Diagon Alley two weeks ago, the days have dragged by. She'd considered going back, just for the sake of it; maybe she missed out on a new flavour of ice-cream at _Florean Fortescue's_ or perhaps she could take another fleeting glance at the _Firebolt II,_ and buy it just for the fun of it. But ultimately, Jackie had decided against it time and time again. It would have been a pointless trip, really – ending up as nothing but a waste of money in a taxi. Never mind the fact that she has _,_ she imagines, possiblyirritated both of her parents enough, having brought home a cat the last time she'd ventured out. (Not that she's sorry.)

The cat in question is perfect, Jackie reckons. Well worth the fuss that she caused by bringing him home – she'd taken one look at him sitting in a cage on the crowded shelves of the shop, unusually quiet in comparison to most of the other creatures in there, with big bright eyes looking right at her, and there was no chance of her walking back out without him. He'd taken almost all of the remainder of her money at the time, once she'd also procured everything else that she needed to take adequate care of him, but every single penny had been well spent.

If she was in a particularly inquisitive mood at the time, Jackie might have questioned the owner of _Magical Menagerie_ who'd happily taken her coins in exchange for the cat. Few questions had been asked, before she was suddenly the proud parent of something living and breathing, and she's not entirely sure that should be standard procedure.

If a sixteen-year-old was to head into a muggle pet shop alone before hastily pointing at a cage and declaring: _I'll take that one_ , she's almost certain that they'd be told, no doubt impolitely, to bugger off. But she's quickly beginning to learn that things are different in the wizarding world – whether that's for the best is yet to be seen, but for now, she certainly won't complain.

Not when she's got a sweet cat – who she is sure is no more than a kitten, really – curled up in her lap, purring. He's all thick black fur, and wide green eyes, and Jackie could just about melt at the sight of it all. She didn't think she had it in her, to care so deeply about something like this, but she's grown rather attached to him, in the couple of weeks that she's spent doting on him.

Her mother may well look at him with disgust, and her father pays the tiny thing as little attention as he physically can, but Gus – dear god, little Gus is absolutely enamoured enough with him to make up for it, so much so that Jackie won't be surprised if she heads off to Hogwarts tomorrow to find that her parents' have bought precious, heartbroken, Augustus a cat of his own within days just to stop him from pining after _hers._

Jackie scratches behind the cat's ears absentmindedly, thinking of the way that Gus had cooed at him for hours whilst he was still timid, and hiding in his cat carrier, after Jackie had brought him home. She'd gone really quite soft when observing the scene, and had – in a moment of weak-will at seeing such a sweet moment – let Gus name him on the spot.

And so that's why her cat is now called _Bowie,_ after – yes, you guessed it, David Bowie, who Gus is also suitably obsessed with, to the extent that you can find him dancing around to one of his CDs in his room most mornings as he gets ready for the day. Jackie isn't sure she minds all too much, though; it actually suits the young tomcat fairly well, and she's sure he'll grow into it more so over time. Plus, she doesn't _mind_ David Bowie's music either. It's quite nice, really, even if she isn't quite as fond as Gus is, to have thought to make him a namesake. 

Bowie kneads at Jackie's legs slightly and draws her out of her thoughts. He lifts himself up from her lap gracefully, stretching his legs and arching his back, letting out a small meow before slinking off elsewhere, probably in search of food. (If Gus has any, he will hand it over in bitesize chunks without question, so long as he deems it to be safe.)

Jackie reaches out and gives him one final stroke down his back before standing too. As she dusts the fur from her smart trousers, she finds herself glad that she opted for a black cat rather than a pure white one; she wears so many dark colours that it would have inevitably become a nightmare.

She listens to Bowie slide through the small gap she's left in her doorway – big enough for him to slip through, and small enough that the hinges will creak if anyone else moves the door even a fraction in any direction – and then heads toward the neat desk that sits in the corner of her room.

She closes the scrapbook that she'd been working on earlier today, adorned with all of the articles that have cropped up about her in recent months in muggle newspapers, pages heavy with cut outs and glitter-glue and stickers that she's picked up over her time at home. It's been nice, she thinks, to document the summer this way; she'll be able to flick through it whilst away at school and with each rumour about herself she comes across, she'll fondly remember the way that the vein in her father's temple had _popped_ as they'd been forced to discuss it at the table over one meal or another.

Jackie ties the ribbon that is looped around it, binding the pages together, and then places it into the open case on her bed along with all of her various textbooks for the year. Considering that that's all she's managed to do so far today, packing isn't going as well as she'd like, really; she keeps _finding_ things in her room that require her attention far more, like . . .

Well, like the Rubik's cube that she'd spent the best part of an hour trying and failing to complete, or the copy of Vogue from May of the previous year with the Princess Diana piece that she just _had_ to read at that moment after being uninterested about it for more than a year, or ... Or like the collection of wizarding newspapers that she'd had delivered to her, not all that discreetly, throughout the summer to keep her up to date on the events that she was missing, _especially_ the ones with articles that documented the ins-and-outs of the Quidditch world cup, which she'd practically devoured as soon as they'd arrived and has reread countless times since.

Whenever she seems to finish with one thing that she's uncovered, she finds another almost immediately and the time is quickly beginning to tick away. She'd only meant to sit down with Bowie for ten minutes, but it had been just past noon when she'd done that and now the clock on the wall is reading almost three o'clock so ... _oops._

It's quite frustrating, really, Jackie thinks. She's not normally so easily distracted, _especially_ not when it comes to going back to school. The first year she'd packed for Hogwarts had been filled with nothing but nerves and excitement, and the second had been filled with pure eagerness to return after a rather volatile summer at home, but this year there's a slight hesitance.

Jackie isn't really sure why that is; she's not _reluctant_ to go back, but she has admittedly been going over what Fred and George told her at Diagon Alley for days now – their words sit still-fresh in her mind, and the questions that have come along with them are steadily swimming around, surfacing at the least opportune moments like when she's trying to fall to asleep at night.

This year is going to be _different_ in a way that Jackie feels unprepared for, having only just started feeling like she was properly getting used to her new life toward the end of last year after a long and difficult adjustment period. It already feels like she's backtracked somewhat on her progress over the summer, and now she's worried that this change – whatever it may be – is going to make her feel even worse. That it will give her peers further reason to say she doesn't belong there with them.

Jackie sighs, and shakes her head as though to clear it of its thoughts, before collecting up all of the newspapers from her desk, much like she had with the scrapbook moments before. The pile is significantly smaller than it had been the previous evening, when she had decided to look through them one last time and burn the irrelevant ones in the fireplace, only keeping the copies she deemed interesting enough to refer back to.

These newspapers with the Jackie Bishop seal of approval get placed into a box and shoved into the back of her wardrobe with the few pieces of wizarding paraphernalia that she doesn't really fancy taking back to school with her. She hopes that no one will look through her things whilst she's gone, but she suspects that they will, so the pieces she's leaving are relatively harmless, but probably shouldn't be left out and about for Gus to stumble upon.

The hinges of the door behind Jackie creak as it gets pushed open. She whips around – closing the wardrobe door perhaps a little too heavily for it to be casual. A breath slips out between her lips once she sees who it is, though, and she's suddenly very impressed with her own timing regarding putting those newspapers out of sight.

Gus stands in the doorway, Bowie cradled in his arms as though he's a baby. Jackie supposes he is, really.

"You found your buddy, huh?" Jackie asks, speaking to the cat more than Gus, listening as he purrs, perfectly content to be held by her brother.

"I think he wanted to see me before he has to go," Gus sighs, sitting himself down onto Jackie's bed cross-legged. Jackie thinks it's sweet, the way that Gus obviously sees the cat as an intuitive creature; as though somehow, he knows that he's leaving with Jackie tomorrow. And though it's unlikely that he does, Jackie is not her parents, and will not correct him. He's just a kid, and she thinks it's important to let him be one for as long as possible.

"That may well be it," Jackie smiles kindly, and continues to sort through her things so that she can leave her room tidy enough tomorrow. With Gus here to chat to, she might well actually get some packing done; it seems easier to do things like that, when you have someone to keep you company as you go. "He likes you a lot. I can tell."

Gus raises his brows, and his mouth drops open into a little 'o' shape. It's truly very precious, and Jackie wishes that he would stay this age forever, where everything causes wonder and the world seems unbelievably good. 

"You can?" He asks.

She thinks about telling him how she knows, but she's always worried that she'll manage to say the wrong thing to him. The less she says, the less chance there is of that happening. "I can." She repeats back with a nod and then busies herself with beginning to sort through her clothes which luckily sit behind other doors than the rest of the things that she's haphazardly shoved into the closet to be stored.

Hangers get pulled out as she carefully considers what she needs to take; her robes are gathered together first, and then she picks enough outfits for trips to Hogsmeade (and then a few more, just in case).

Gus, from his position on the bed, pays most of his attention to the cat sitting on his lap. But once Jackie carefully lays out her uniform beside him, his focus gets drawn away slightly.

He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. It's like he's _thinking_ of asking something, but then decides better of it. That really won't do, Jackie thinks, the boy's seven, for crying out loud – he should ask _millions_ of questions a day without so much as thinking about it.

"What's up?" Jackie tries softly. She's well aware that he doesn't often seek her out so directly as he has done today; he's always welcome to come into her room to speak to her, she's made sure that there's a standing invitation, but he rarely acts upon it. And when he does, he seems reluctant to do so without explicitly asking if it's okay first.

Gus shakes his head and purses his lips. "It's nothing," He says, sounding somewhat wistful.

Jackie firmly believes in letting him make his own choices, so she nods her head and continues to make fairly quick work of folding her selected clothes and placing them into the trunk that sits open at the foot of her bed. It's a shame she can't use magic here, she thinks, everything will be terribly creased when she pulls it back out in her room tomorrow evening, but that's just how things are, she supposes. Her seventeenth birthday can't come soon enough, even if she only turned sixteen a few weeks back.

The pair of them remain in comfortable quiet for a while longer – Jackie hums beneath her breath so as to create something of a warmer atmosphere, and Gus occasionally talks to Bowie in a low murmur. She's genuinely surprised with how quickly she manages to get most of what she needs packed away now, having wasted away countless hours throughout the day doing very little even though she had _intended_ to do plenty. It's like she's trying to fill the space whilst she waits for her brother to eventually say whatever he wants to; he usually spills eventually.

After all, he is at the perfect age for being terrible at keeping things to himself.

It isn't until Jackie is forcing most of her body weight on the top of the trunk to get it to close that he speaks up, waiting until the final buckle clicks into place – strained, but locked – that he reaches his breaking point of sitting without saying anything.

Jackie's pretty impressed to be fair, it's much longer than he normally lasts.

"Can you tell me about it again?" Gus asks all at once, not meeting her eyes.

Jackie frowns, and sits down beside him on the bed. Bowie – her _own_ cat – doesn't even so much as look in her direction when she does so. _Traitor,_ she thinks affectionately. She almost wants to leave him here to keep Gus company, so much so that if she really _didn't_ suspect that he'd have his own little friend before the week is out, she genuinely would do it.

"About what?" She responds, having a good idea of what he means but wanting confirmation.

Gus sighs once more, and picks at a loose thread on his trousers. He scowls down at it with all the ferocity that the world's softest seven-year-old can muster up. "You know, being a witch," He rushes out in a hushed tone, as though _witch_ is a curse word that he's been scolded for saying before.

"Oh, Gus. Of course I will. You know I'm always happy to, don't you?"

"I know," He nods in understanding, but he looks sad. "Dad said I wasn't to ask you about it, though." He sounds conflicted when he speaks, still talking more quietly than he normally would. Jackie _hates_ her parents. Absolutely _despises_ them.

"I won't tell him if you won't," Jackie tries for reassurance, though she's not sure she's very good at it. She's not really a people person, both nature and nurture have long since driven her away from developing that particular skill-set. It was much easier to become defensive and quick-witted instead – self-preservation skills have shown themselves to have greater value than interpersonal ones.

"Yeah?" Gus is full of hope in a way that Jackie longs to be.

"Yeah," She agrees simply, and Gus' face just lights up.

She doesn't understand how anyone could look at a face like that and be anything other than kind and encouraging. In her book, her father is an enigma in and of himself, and her mother is slowly morphing into her husband. It's really rather exhausting, and Jackie thinks that if that's what love does to you, she'd rather be alone.

"What do you want to know?" She asks, conscious of the fact that her farewell dinner isn't too far away, set to start at four pm promptly when they normally don't have their evening meal until six or seven. It's like they're not even trying to be subtle about the fact that they can't wait to be rid of her.

"Everything," He breathes rather dreamily, and Jackie gets it – she totally does. She feels the same way about the world of magic she's found herself in, even if she doesn't display it outwardly so much anymore. She's more than happy to indulge him.

Jackie clicks her tongue and thinks for a moment, quickly navigating through what she can and can't tell Gus about. "Did I ever tell you about when I got my wand?" She ventures.

The gasp of wonder that her brother lets out tells her that that's the _perfect_ story to start with right now, so she drags up the memories of her first trip to Diagon Alley and begins to regale the story, embellishing a little in places to make it all the better. Gus listens eagerly the whole time, and for a moment she forgets to dread the dinner she will have to endure later on today, and the imminent changes she will experience when she returns to school tomorrow.

For this little while, it will just be her and Gus, and the chance to remember why she adores being a witch.

*****

Four o'clock comes around all too quickly, packing abandoned in favour of sitting around a neatly dressed table. Gone is the feeling that the sweet conversation with Augustus this afternoon brought her, replaced now with a slowly simmering rage.

The Bishops rarely sit down to eat together for good reason; her father is often too busy with work to bother with mealtime – today alone he was late due to a meeting over-running – and Jackie is often resistant to join when the other three have managed to dine around the table together due to the tension that sits between them when they become a four. Serving her parents with a reminder that they _do_ have an eldest child seems enough to cause unease.

The only good thing about this tonight, which she has no choice but to endure, boils down to the fact that it means she's leaving again soon, to go back to the home that she _actually_ likes.

Thinking that they may as well get on with the uncomfortable proceedings, Jackie reaches to pick up her fork, but her father clears his throat and shoots a look in her direction that says she shouldn't do that just yet.

"Let's say grace first, please," He says, not even bothering to actually address her as he speaks even though his words as so clearly meant for her.

Jackie resists the urge to roll her eyes and reaches across to take hold of her mother and father's hands as they sit at either side of her on the round table. She bows her head and tunes him out as he murmurs what is likely a load of nonsense, and not the correct way to say grace. They're not religious people at all, and no one is watching, but if Jacob wants to pretend to thank a god that none of them believe in for the food that's on their table, then he can knock himself out. Jackie will be agreeable just this once, as a going-away treat.

He finishes with an "Amen," which is echoed back around the table, and then they begin to dig in, piling their plates high.

Her mother's food is good, Jackie will admit in the confines of her own mind at least, and she genuinely _is_ grateful that she chose to cook for her. It fills Jackie with hope that maybe she _is_ sort of appreciated, and that perhaps she will be missed by someone other than Gus when she leaves, but then she swiftly changes her mind – reminding herself that her mother pays her no mind most of the time. If she _did_ she might have picked up on all of the hints that Jackie dropped throughout this summer and the one before (and the _years_ before that) about wishing her mother would teach her to cook like she had once been taught by her own.

The clatter of knives and forks fills the room, somehow loud enough to distract Jackie from thoughts that could quickly spiral into a full-on personal pity party.

It's almost peaceful whilst they eat, Jackie considers wistfully, but she knows that the nice atmosphere won't last and that it will – for the most part – be her fault.

"So," Jackie begins after a while, having decided that the lack of talking is actually making her feel rather on edge, at least if _she_ initiates the conversation then she is able to control it. "I didn't bring it up when they came, but I was wondering if anyone fancied hearing about my O.W.L results. I avoided it for a while, but I finally opened the letter a couple of weeks back and I'm actually really rather pleased with– "

Her father sighs at the head of the table, rubbing at his temple with one hand – he's intentionally interrupted her and she doesn't appreciate it all that much really. It's not like it would kill him to _pretend_ to be interested in what she does at school, just this once.

"—with them," Jackie continues pointedly as though he didn't make a sound. She raises an eyebrow when quiet follows, having expected some form of response, simply having been wondering whether it was going to be a positive or negative one.

"Oh," Jackie frowns. She wonders how they manage to make her feel wrong-footed so often. They listen to Gus talk for _hours_ about any manner of insignificant things, and this is actually quite important for once. "My O.W.Ls are the exams I took at the end of the year. Did I ever tell you about them? They're like O-Levels in essence." She explains.

"You did, dear," Rebecca nods – she isn't wearing a kind expression. "And I'm sure you want to talk about them, just . . . not right now, okay?" She sounds tired.

"But I leave tomorrow," Jackie feigns ignorance, tilting her head; she firmly believes that if people aren't interested, they should simply say so. "If not now, then when?"

Noticeably, no response comes.

"I'm only telling you because I exceeded expectations in near enough everything," Jackie decides to continue bull-headed, words coming out just a little too fast to be entirely confident but she does manage to keep her tone even and stops any unwarranted emotions from slipping in at least. "It's really quite extraordinary, considering I came so late to everything," She opts to add on for good measure.

Jacob's knife scrapes across his plate with a horrible screech, and Jackie resists the urge to wince. He did it on purpose, she bets, like in doing so he's drawing a line beneath whatever she's just said.

"I just thought you might like to know how I'm doing." She shrugs, glare reaching her mother and then father in turn, before she starts to eat once more.

Jacob snorts rather loudly from where he sits, and for a moment Jackie sees red; it's insulting, to react that way. Jackie is not sure that a grown man should play strange mind games with any child like this, let alone his own daughter. She fights to remain in her seat, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he is provoking her.

She focuses her attention down on her plate, cutting a piece of chicken up with rather more force than is necessary, and then decides that Gus deserves her attention more. She tries to ease the tension in the air by asking him a question instead, something safe about his newest CD that she barely has to think about.

As he responds, she ensures to nod and hum approvingly in all of the right places, sparing a glance to her parents every now and again to find that they appear to be enraptured in whatever rubbish her brother is gushing about.

She reckons other couples try harder to hide who their favourite child is, but she'd known that Gus was going to be the golden boy from the moment she learned of his existence. At the end of the day, he had been a planned baby, wanted long before he arrived. And when he had come into this world, he hadn't kicked and screamed like Jackie had when she had been placed into her mother's waiting arms. He hadn't kept Jacob and Rebecca awake with months upon months of colic. He hadn't driven three nannies away by his first birthday.

He hadn't been difficult at every given moment (though Jackie hadn't intentionally been so until at least her fourth or fifth birthday, either, in all fairness.) But, really, it wasn't a surprise that he was adored and doted upon.

Gus had always been the _perfect_ child that any parent would kill to have, and – in spite of what her parents may say if they were asked – Jackie becoming a witch hadn't signed the deal one bit, in regard to her to coming in at a distant second place, but it _had_ almost caused relief for the Bishops. It gave them reason to favour Augustus once more, cementing the idea that their view of Jackie had been finally justified and explained to them – _we knew it,_ they must have thought, _we knew she wasn't ever really meant for us._

Jackie feels the same way though, she assures herself; it's quite alright. She was born to be a witch, she reminds herself. She was right all along; she does not belong here with them, either.

A small foot kicks Jackie under the table, dragging her rather forcefully from her sulking, as she finds herself looking up at Gus with slightly wide eyes. He couldn't reach her last summer, despite his best efforts, and now he can. He's growing up far too fast; Jackie fears she will blink from one summer to the next, and he will be an adult without any sort of need for the sister he rarely sees.

She raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him, and he grins. Jackie smiles back when she's sure that no one but Gus is looking at her, but he doesn't say anything. It appears he's done talking for now, the room settling into silence once more – she's unsure why he was drawing her attention back to him, but she thanks him anyway. She thinks perhaps she has been sitting still for a bit too long for it to appear entirely natural.

"Eat please, Jackie," Jacob says, as though to confirm her assumption, "Your mother cooked all afternoon for you, the least you could do is be appreciative."

She picks up her fork once more, and spears a stray carrot onto it. She chews for a long time once she's bitten it off, and forces herself to swallow. Jackie finds that she's lost her appetite, now that she's been asked to have one by that infuriating man in particular.

"I'm not sure that I'm hungry anymore," She sighs, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with the carefully pressed napkin that had previously been sitting on her lap.

She can feel her father's eyes burning into the side of her skull at the blatant show of disrespect, but she finds she doesn't care all that much. Before he can open his mouth to insist she eat, anyway, she drops the fabric down onto her plate, effectively ending any argument on the matter.

"Then you can remove yourself from the table," Jacob responds through gritted teeth and oh _look –_ there goes that vein! Jackie smirks with fondness for the thing, that sits throbbing beneath too-red skin.

Her father really should try to relax more, she thinks, pushing her chair back from the table as she keeps her eyes on him.

"Thank you for the meal, mother," She says just before exiting the doorway.

After that little performance, she will not be welcome back for Christmas, Jackie is certain of that. But as she walks up the stairs to her room where she plans to hunker down for the evening, she mulls the thought over and finds that she does not care all too much. Sure, she'll miss Gus, but he'll have a grand time regardless of whether she's there or not and Hogwarts with its snow-covered grounds and for-once quiet corridors sounds far more appealing to her, than another moment here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone was wondering, jackie's dad is the secretary of state for education and her mom is a 'lifestyle coach' a.k.a was born rich and does very little . . . think goop / poosh kind of vibes but in the 90s, it isn't really all that relevant to the plot but i think it adds a lil something to know some more about them and explains just a bit of why they act the way they do
> 
> let me know what u thought of the chapter and the vibes of jackie's family !!! i feel like the song dollhouse by melanie martinez sums up their dynamic v well

**Author's Note:**

> this is being cross-posted to wattpad where my user is @/luminite
> 
> jackie is an oc who is very dear to me, i've been developing her and this story for over a year, so i hope that you'll love her as much as i do!! pls leave me any feedback you have, it is very much appreciated <3


End file.
